When the Past Catches Up
by torri.oats
Summary: Fitz and Olivia awaken in each other's arms, only to realize later that they have been exposed.
1. Chapter 1

It is morning. A glorious morning with the sunlight giving the room an angelic glow. Even the Gods, or a single God knew that what she has, what they have, is perfect. It's otherworldly. Angelic. As close to heaven as any two earthly beings could get.

She turns on her side and sees him. Her President. Her lover. Sleeping with a slight grin on his face. She wonders if he is dreaming of her? Of them? The night they had which didn't end until the early morning hours.

Just the thought of it makes her blush. It's still amazing to her how he seems to know her body better than she, to do the things which make her react in a way that's so unlike Olivia Pope, the fixer. And she loves him for that. Loves him for listening to her body's silent symphony.

She leans in and gives him a light kiss on the lips. His face wiggles a bit as his smile gets a little wider.

"Faker," Olivia says with a wide smile of her own, an expression absent from her features for far too long.

He wraps his arms around her, lifting her on top of him. She laughs. It's been so long since they've been like this, so completely at peace and in love. So secure in that love. It's beautiful. A treasured gift. "Good morning," he says, kissing her repeatedly on her lips. Light pecks.

"Good morning, Mr. President," Olivia says, looking down at him, taking him in. This, she thinks, will never get old. Her expression changes though as she senses something not quite right with him. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't respond right away. It's when she begins to worry that maybe he's lost faith in her, in their plan, that maybe he doesn't want to go through with it.

As though reading her mind he says, "I'm not getting cold feet. I just - I'm tired of keeping us a secret. I want to be able to show you off. Tell the world how much I love you."

She loves him for that. It's a simple declaration that could, coming from less of a man, seem corny. But, from him, it's gospel. "The world doesn't need to know, only me," she says, resting her head on his chest.

There were times she didn't believe they'd arrive at this place. So much had happened. So many words said, promises broken, nights of pain she cannot describe, yet here they are. Just them.

He runs his hands along her spine, marveling at how a gesture could possibly mean the world to him. Touching her. Feeling her body perfectly molded to his, relax under his touch. He knows how much stress she carries on those shoulders, so small, yet refusing to buckle beneath the weight of the world. But when he touches her, he feels it all disappear. He sees her stand a little taller, sit a little straighter, lean into him because he is her strength; he is her love.

He glances over at the clock. It's early. The city is still sleeping, but he knows he must leave. She feels him shift underneath him.

"Already?"

He kisses the top of her head. "I don't want to leave but-"

"I know, I know." She reluctantly removes her body from his. There were times she dreaded "goodbye" because she didn't know when they'd have another moment. Those times, they were tough. A day or two would pass and her mind would wander. _What if he didn't come back? Does he love me? What am I doing?_ This time, in the security of the here and the now, she knows there will be a phone call or two during the day, just to say something silly or hear each other's voice, and at night, his voice would be the last she hears, either lying next to her in bed or another meaningful, "I love you."

The bed shifts as he moves away from her and begins gathering his clothing. "What does the great Olivia Pope have on her agenda today?" She watches as he walks to and from the bathroom, washing up, brushing his teeth, pulling himself together so he looks somewhat presentable.

"She is going for a run."

"You're a swimmer."

"I'm a swimmer when I'm working things out," she says as she gets out of bed and walks over to her dresser. "A runner when I have everything worked out."

He just stares at her in a way that used to make her shift in discomfort, but now, it's comforting. It says everything. For him, it's the look of disbelief. Even after all this time, it's hard for him to believe that she's all his. But she is, and he's secure in that. They are secure in them.

She is slipping into a very fashionable jogging outfit. He just looks at her and smiles. "What?" she asks, grinning like a lovesick teenager.

He walks over and kisses her. "Nothing."

She kisses him back. He links his fingers with hers and kisses her hand. "Time for me to go." He leads her toward the front door.

Olivia comes to an abrupt stop. Then shakes her head.

"What?" Fitz asks, suddenly concerned.

"Nothing," she shakes off the feeling that something isn't right. It's still there though, beneath the surface. So when they hug, she squeezes a little tighter and when they kiss, she makes it last a little longer. _Something isn't right_, her gut tells her. _Something is not right._

"I'll call you later," and with that, he is gone.

Olivia leans against the door, unable to shake that feeling. After a moment or two, she moves forward, grabs her sneakers, iPod and cell phone, and she's almost at the door when her phone starts vibrating. She looks at the display. It's Harrison. She presses the "Ignore" button on her phone.

It's not her normal practice to ignore work, but her life has taken a distinctly different turn since she and Fitz reconciled. That night, the one where he "earned her", her entire perspective on life changed. Work never sustained her. It was a temporary high, the satisfaction of knowing she helped someone during their darkest moments, but those moments were fleeting. Her love with Fitz is something permanent, something that sustains her. And work, for the time being, has to take a backseat.

She ignores the vibrating phone again then turns it off, dropping it on the table next to the door as she exits. This is a peaceful morning, a perfect morning, one she doesn't want ruined by someone else's crisis.

She steps into the elevator, refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated by the security of knowing that at this moment in her life, she really does have it all.

Fitz, feeling more rested than he's felt for as long as he can remember, sits behind his desk as though he doesn't have a care in the world. This job, the one he's always wanted, is no longer a burden that keeps him from his heart's desire. With her by his side, as his partner, he has all he needs to bring the country to higher heights.

It's still a little unreal to him, how long and hard they'd fought, yet they still reached this place with a deeper love than he's ever imagined. It's unreal how he woke up with her in his arms. The whole situation is so unreal, he sometimes has to pinch himself to know he's not dreaming.

There's a pile of paperwork on his desk; he doesn't know where to begin. He starts at the top and as he opens the folder and watches the cover fall on the desk. The door opens revealing a breathless Cyrus.

"Someone leaked. Goddamit! Someone leaked!" Cyrus exclaims, as his face turns redder by the second as the veins on the side of his head become more pronounced.

"Good morning to you too, Cyrus."

"Clearly, you spent all night with your girlfriend and didn't bother turning on the news."

The reference to Olivia is enough to get his attention. Suddenly, he starts putting the words together and his eyes widen as he realizes what Cyrus is trying to tell him. "Where is she?"

"Well, sir, the last time anyone saw her she was being driven from her apartment in a black sedan."

"What do you mean 'the last time anyone saw her'?" Now, Fitz is worried. He silently curses himself for being so lax with her security.

Cyrus weighs his next words carefully. "Sir, she was swarmed by reporters this morning and, we're trying to get the footage, but she got in an unmarked car. No one at OPA has seen or heard from her." Cyrus braces himself for the coming shouting match with Fitz. He knows he sounds cold when it comes to Olivia, and given their history he's anything but, but his first concern in this moment is the Republic.

Fitz is silent. His eyes though, they tell the story of a man who is doing everything he can to keep from losing it. Looking into his eyes, Cyrus is glad he had the foresight to occupy Mellie with some meaningless tasks. Fitz's face is a study of emotions, of what the face can say without the mouth moving. Pain. Concern. Rage. Love. One nice, untidy bundle.

"Tom. Hal," Fitz bellows as he walks around to the front of his desk. Cyrus steps in front of him, blocking his next move. "Get out of the way, Cyrus."

"Sir, you might want to think of the optics of the situation." He's using that tone. The tone that Fitz hates, that says without words, _Listen to the adult in the room_.

"Cyrus-"

"No, just think about how this looks to the American people. Their President, the one they think may be a little slutty at this point, has a mistress. Not just any mistress. His campaign fixer, his press secretary, his right hand whose had cart blanche of the White House ever since he's been in office. Not to mention how it looks to the party who is as exclusionary as ever, only openly. Racist. Sexist. Homophobic. Oh, and you have young children whose father couldn't keep it zipped. We have wars, sir. We have an economy in a shambles. We have primaries coming up. We have problems, so many and you can't just run to her side because she's in trouble. She's a fixer. She has a team. Let them fix it."

On some level, Fitz knows Cyrus is right. But on another level, the real level which is his life, Cyrus is dead wrong. How many times had he tried to break them up? How many times had he played one against the other? How many times had he won?

They'd fought too long and too hard to get to the point where they are truly in it together. But, it'd been worth it. Waking up next to her. Seeing the smile on her face, which was a mirror image of his own. Few can understand what they have because it's so rare.

Just then, Tom and Hal appear. "We're going to OPA."

Tom and Hal exchange glances.

"What?" Fitz asks, becoming impatient with them already. He needs to leave.

Tom speaks up, "Sir, we're told OPA is surrounded by press-"

"So?"

"So, it may not be the best idea to leave the White House right this minute. Perhaps we can send some agents-"

"Tom, pull the car around."

"Yes, sir."

Cyrus falls onto the sofa, unable to believe everything he's worked for is about to fly out the window. He has no words left, having used his best just moments before. He sighs heavily, hunched over from the pain that's in the pit of his stomach. Trying to think of a Plan B, if one exists.

The elevator doors open with a familiar ding. The lobby seems more active than usual, but Olivia shakes it off. She smiles at her neighbors. Sunlight pours in from the windows; it is a glorious day.

Olivia's iPod is louder than usual, but it's Stevie Wonder and there's something about his voice that makes everything okay. She nods at the older African-American man who sits in his usual spot by the door. So distracted is she by him, she doesn't see the storm gathered to greet her as soon as she steps through the doors.

She pushes through the front door and it takes her a moment to realize what's happening. The smile immediately changes to panic as countless bulbs flash in her eyes, blinding her.

She feels light-headed and dizzy. No, no, this is all wrong, she thinks. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Her legs feel weak, as though the ground beneath her is opening and she's going to fall endlessly into a cold, dark, space, all alone.

She cannot see the men who appear by her side, taking her gently by her elbows and leading her away from the chaos. Only a few words that are being shouted in her direction she can make out, "Mistress. Girlfriend. Marriage." Before she can protest, she's being shoved into a car.

Still trying to comprehend what's happening she looks down, wondering how she let this happen. How she lost control of the narrative, the one thing that's never supposed to happen.

She thinks about what she should do first. She can't go to the office because press is likely to be camped out there as well. The White House is definitely out of the question. As her mind races and she plays with her hands, she becomes painfully aware that she doesn't have her cell phone with her.

As her mind continues to run, she finally looks up and sees who's in the car with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for the positive feedback. I normally don't write this kind of thing, so your words were extremely encouraging.**

**Chapter 2**

"Dad?!" Olivia says in a way that's more of an exclamation than a question.

And there is that look that he gives her, the one that says, _What have you gotten yourself into this time?_ But he knows. He knows too much and she does too. "I always told you one day you'd need me," Rowan says a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. So smug. So...knowing.

"I don't need you. I've never needed you," Olivia says as she reaches for the door handle and braces herself for the onslaught of press once she exits. She closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath and then another, her hand pulling oh so slowly at the door's latch.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She lets go. Sits back, crossing her arms and feeling like that little girl he'd abandoned all those years ago. The one who was left all alone with that woman who reeked of the strange mixture of rubbing alcohol and spicy must, and later the streets because her father, the man who was supposed to love and protect her, had yet one more mission to complete.

She reached her breaking point, eventually. Tired of being left hidden in the shadows because with his job, he wasn't supposed to have a family. Left hidden because work was more important. Left hidden with a kind woman, a kind woman who patched up the damaged who came through her doors at all times of day and night, a kind woman who was not her mother.

"What do you want?"

"Is that any way to treat your father, who just saved you by the way."

"You didn't save me and I repeat my initial question, what do you want? We both know you never do anything unless there's something in it for you. Unless it can benefit you in some way. But we also both know destroying lives is what you do best."

The car lurches forward as the driver says, "Where to, sir?"

"The Compound."

The Compound, as Olivia understood it from her research, is the place where B613 secretly operates. Highly secure, highly secluded; the perfect place for Rowan to take her. They couldn't be traced by a novice, he'd make sure of it. But, she has someone who's better than a novice and the minute he realizes she's lost, Huck, she knows, will start looking for her and will find her.

"Are you taking me there so you can kill me?"

"Kill my own daughter? That would be a little extreme, even for me."

Olivia rolls her eyes.

"What's that for?"

"Because just last night, you sent someone to kill me. If it hadn't been for Jake-"

"Jake? Is that what he told you? He was there to save you?" She could hear the laughter beneath his voice. He always did that. Like he was smarter and she was just a naïve little girl who didn't understand anything. "I sent someone to bring you to me. He knew that. That's your problem, Olivia, you always see the best in people and I've told you time and time again, we're all bad. My question to you is why on earth would you believe someone who slept with you as part of a mission and lied to his Commander and Chief? You are smarter than that."

Olivia's mind begins to spin again, replaying the past several weeks in her mind. She and Jake bumped into each other at a coffee shop. _Was he following her then? He worked for her father, and Fitz, was he playing both of them, and her too? How long was he watching her? Who is he? More importantly, why in the hell didn't she listen to her gut?_

"We're here," says Rowan, pulling her from her thoughts.

The streets are lined with media trucks and reporters, clamoring for a glimpse of the "Presidential Mistress". Those words have replaced her name, one once so pristine, now soiled by the outing of their relationship. As Tom inches closer to OPA, Fitz recognizes the enormity of the situation. This isn't something she can solve alone, or her Gladiators can fix.

"Pull around back," Fitz says to Tom, "see if it's any better there."

It isn't. The entire building is surrounded. "What now, sir?"

This is all so wrong. He asks himself over and over what would Olivia do? "Go inside and get...Huck. Get Huck and tell him I'm out here."

Tom gets out of the car and walks toward OPA, ignoring screams for his attention from the press. He feels sorry for his boss. Finally, he was happy and the other shoe dropped. He climbs into the old elevator and nods his head toward the elevator operator.

"Where to?"

"Olivia Pope and Associates." The elevator operator sighs heavily. He's never known what they do, but nothing good is ever happening when people step foot in that office.

Tom steps off the elevator and looks around. Everyone is in motion, so distracted, no one notices him as he steps into the conference room. He stands there for a moment, taking it all in.

There's Quinn, typing furiously on her computer.

Harrison, telephone glued to his ear. "It's still going straight to voicemail."

Abby, studying a series of pictures taped to the window.

Huck, standing off to himself, hands behind his back, wide stance, frowning.

Tom clear his throat and everything stops instantly. Huck snaps out of his daze and looks Tom dead in the eye. "Which one of you is Huck?" Tom asks, knowing almost instinctually the very intense man standing off to himself is exactly who he's looking for.

"Me."

"I need you to come with me."

Harrison walks closer to Tom, invading his space as he appraises the stranger. "Look, I don't know who you are or where you came from, but we're dealing with an emergency, so whatever this is, whatever you need him for, is going to have to wait."

"It's okay. I'll go." Huck doesn't say another word as he walks past the other Associates and leads Tom to the elevator.

"What the hell was that about?" Abby asks, not really expecting an answer. She won't admit it, but Olivia and Huck's closeness bothers her. She knows it's silly, that they're all a team, but she's never been able to break through the impenetrable wall that is Olivia Pope.

Harrison too, feels this kind of distance between Huck and Olivia, and the rest of the Associates. Like Huck is on a higher plane and no matter what they do, no matter how hard they work or how many cases they help solve, they will never been as close to those two as they are to each other.

With Harrison though, it's different. He and Olivia go way back, way, way back and one would think he'd have the upper hand. That's not the case though and instead, he's treated like the little boy who doesn't need to know too much. She saved him all those years ago, more than once, but she'd never let him repay the favor.

Quinn is different. Quinn is just thankful that with the help of Olivia Pope, she's finally discovered who she is. Discovered how great she can be. So this whole thing with her name being leaked, her disappearance and now Huck being summoned to places unknown, has made her more determined to save her boss.

Huck slides into the car. He looks at the President. And waits.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know." Huck always knows where Olivia is. Long ago, he installed a tracking device on her phone for her own protection. He never had to use it until today, when no one could reach her. According to her phone, she is still at home. In reality, she has gone off the grid. "I thought she was with you, until I saw her on the news, leaving her apartment."

Fitz runs his fingers through his hair. There was a part of him that hoped her team had her hidden away somewhere safe, but he knew, deep down, that wasn't the case. He sighs heavily.

"I've been to all the places she may have gone. Made some calls. Nothing. We're trying to track down the car."

Fitz nods, not really hearing what Huck is saying.

"We're tracking her bank accounts. Credit cards. Nothing."

Fitz tries to focus; tries to think. Olivia wouldn't have just left him again, not like this. She's an expert at manipulating the media, so this is something she would face head-on. He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Sir, there's something you should know."

"What is it?"

"B613, the program I worked for before I met Liv, the program that Charlie worked for, well, there was another guy. Jake Ballard, I saw him with Liv a couple of times. He was supposed to be protecting her and, I'm still looking into him, but he is a member of B613. He didn't know I was. I think the program may have something to do with her disappearance and if they do, we'd better find her fast."

Fitz nods as Tom turns and looks at him. It's the unspoken language they've developed over the years. It says, _It's time to go_. Fitz hurriedly writes down a phone number and gives it to Huck. "If you hear anything, if you need anything, call. That's my private number. I'll have some of my guys look into B613."

Olivia enters The Compound and looks around. It looks like someone's home. Nicely decorated, muted colors, peaceful. It's meant to give one a false sense of security. But, if you dig deeper, go through some of the secret passages, you'll find what's real. And if you find that thing that's real, uncover any secret, you'll likely never leave alive.

"Have a seat," Rowan instructs, as he pours each of them a glass of water. He measures it very carefully, as the mind games begin. Give her just enough to whet her whistle, talk to her until her voice is raspy, and the water is gone. Talk to her until she needs more, then withhold it until she gives him the answers he's seeking. She knows the game and knows how to play it well.

She stands. Arms folded across her chest. Hating him.

"Always so stubborn." He takes a seat and then looks up at her. "This is all your fault, you know. If you had just left him alone, this never would've happened. Now, we have to clean up your mess. How do you propose we do that?"

No response.

"Look, we're in the same boat here. You're exposed. Which could expose me and blow my entire operation."

No response.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice." Olivia remains rooted to the spot where she's standing, staring daggers into him. "The easy way, is to construct a different narrative. We find where the leak came from and destroy the source. And, we can change the narrative. Let's see, no, there was no affair. You were enamored with the President, made up some lies about having a relationship with him, lost sight of reality and we can get a doctor to corroborate the story. You were off your medication for some sort of personality disorder. We send you away for treatment and that's it. Now, it may destroy your career, but it saves your boyfriend's legacy. Or, we can do this the hard way and this time, we'll get the job done."

Olivia's eyes widen as the dots connect in her mind. B613 was the ultimate force behind the assassination attempt against Fitz.

"Yes, you're right," Rowan says, reading her thoughts. "Now, the choice is yours."

Cyrus paces back and forth in his office, sweating lightly from the exercise of thinking. This isn't what he bargained for. When he met Fitz, he saw someone who was, sure, a little rough around the edges, but someone who could be shaped, molded, convinced to do whatever necessary for the good of the republic. A kind of manchurian candidate for the "new" Republican Party.

That Fitz was long gone and it's taken awhile for Cyrus to realize it. The man he could control like a puppet is no longer his to control. It was as though an arrow had pierced his soul and this perfect politician, good looking, intelligent, charismatic, had lost his mind to love; lost his soul to Olivia Pope.

Olivia. She was his prized pupil. How many times had he told her that? They were exactly alike, he and Olivia. Unemotional. Anything for the job. Students of history, of political science, of the human condition. If he could be honest with himself, her one weakness is the ability to see the good in people and scratch away and peel back the layers until she gets that person to see the good in themselves too. Where he wants to control people, she wants to heal people.

Cyrus is not an honest man. Perhaps not even honorable. What he saw in Olivia Pope that day he saved her was her fight. There she was, this tiny girl of 13, carrying herself as though she were ten years older, telling that man, "Of course I'm legal." But, he saw through that. Saw her eyes, the fear; she wasn't a girl of the streets. Didn't belong there. Was new to it with her pristine black clothing, pressed slacks, spotless sneakers. She was a curious sight, and when he saw her, he couldn't turn away as he had so many times before. So, he grabbed her, pulled her along with him and told her to "Shut up and follow me," when she protested.

It was the beginning of their lifelong friendship. The day he began to mold her and create the perfect, symbiotic political mind. Beautiful, intelligent, charismatic. Soulless, or so he thought until she began showing signs of weakness. The weakness known to most as the human condition.

He is lost in his own thoughts when the door opens and Fitz appears. Looking rather haggard. Looking like hell. "Any word on the leaker?"

Cyrus shakes his head. "We're working on it. Right now, all we've got is an anonymous source."

"Anonymous source? Not an anonymous White House source?"

"No."

Fitz has that look that's familiar to Cyrus. The wheels are turning and they're now on the same page. Both having thought Mellie leaked the name, but without the words White House before "anonymous," it seems unlikely. Then again, Mellie can never be completely ruled out. She's clever. Fitz seems to switch gears. "Get me everything on B613."

"No, you don't need to know anything more about B613. No one does. You need to devise a plan to stop the bleeding. Have you even watched the news today?"

"No, nor do I care. You will get me everything on B613 and you will get it now."

Cyrus throws up his hands in defeat. The uncontrollable Fitz. The one who won't be manipulated. So, Cyrus will do as he's told. For now. As he picks up the phone, but turns to Fitz before dialing.

"What, Cyrus?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Cyrus dials a number as Fitz leaves, headed down the long, lonely hallway toward the Oval Office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your reviews, favorites and follows. To the person who wrote about Charlie, you're right. I caught it when I wrote it, but decided it didn't bother me enough to change.**

Chapter 3

How many times has Olivia heard the words, "The choice is yours" knowing she really doesn't have a choice? It is an impossible maze of twists and turns with no real exit. Because he holds the key. A cruel game he played then; a life or death game he plays now.

As a teenager, a resourceful one at that, it was she who had the last laugh. It was a difficult choice she made, that's for sure, but she left on her terms. Turned her back on her best friend. Turned her back on the woman who raised her. It was because of him, of his job and "impossible situation", his words, not hers, that the choice had to be made at all.

It took months of planning. Months of squirreling away money. Of hiding clothing. Of intense mental and physical preparation. He did that to her. His infrequent visits and empty promises of how one day, they'd be a real family. Always a promise he made as he was walking out of her life again. Leaving her to a virtual stranger, never speaking to her of her mother, of leaving her to fend for herself because trust, it was a foreign concept to her. After all, she couldn't even trust her father.

As she stands across from him now, she sees the cold-hearted, calculating stranger with the eyes of cruelty. The eyes of murder. Of pain. Of loss. He can and will take away everything from her to preserve his own legacy. _So, what's the point?_ What's the point of even playing his game if he's already determined the outcome.

"I can hear you thinking. Rest assured, _Olivia Pope_," emphasizing her name, the name she'd chosen for herself, "you cannot outsmart me." Rowan is wrong to think that. Olivia learned long ago to use such a misconception to her advantage.

She thinks of Fitz and their new understanding. She knows he's going out of his mind with worry and that concerns her. _How can she protect him at this point? What cards does she have left to play?_ She is here, at The Compound, in his territory and no one knows. If she is to prevail, if she is to outsmart him, she must think like him.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asks, with her best poker face.

Rowan tilts his head, as he tries to read her. Her face gives nothing away. "Down the hall and to the right. By the way, the windows are nailed shut."

And then disappears into the darkness as she yells over her shoulder, "Good to know."

Harrison twirls the phone in his hand as he paces. Back and forth he goes. Back and forth he goes. Quinn and Abby watch. He paces. They watch.

It's funny how things work. When Olivia is there, everyone seems to fall in line. They know what to do without words. Now, she's gone and they're lost. Quinn has grown tired of the endless keystrokes leading nowhere. Abby's vision is blurred and mind is tired as she tries to link the unlinkable, connect the unconnectable.

The only person moving, with an actual plan, is Huck, and he's not speaking to anyone. He sits alone in his office, staring at his computer screen. He hacks into camera after camera, tracing the black sedan. Then, the cameras stop. Stop recording. Stop working. The screen is black.

However, he knows the route well. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and his breathing becomes ragged as he recalls his time there. He could take it. He was strong and couldn't be broken. Liv, she thought she was strong but at The Compound, she is just another spirit they will break.

Huck shuts down his computer and opens the door. Harrison, Abby and Quinn turn toward him expectantly, but he says nothing. Quinn rushes toward him speaking in her rapid-fire way, "Did you find something? Is it something? Are you going to find Liv? I can help you with that."

He shakes his head as a wave of disappointment rushes over her. When he's like this, they all know to stay away. Let him work through it on his own.

While Huck is the one who is focused, Harrison is the one who seems most lost. Twirling his phone, no longer cool and calm; more like someone who is drowning, struggling for oxygen. A couple of times, he's walked away for some privacy, a very Liv-like move when she is hiding something. Harrison tries to play the boss role, the leader, but those are roles he doesn't wear well. Everyone knows it, but no one has the heart to tell him so they just let Harrison be Harrison.

But today, his phone has been ringing and the hushed tones he uses when he speaks raise Abby's antennae. The hushed whispers that have an edge. She's known him long enough to know when all is not right. He's pretending. He's anxious. He's...up to something.

Fitz sits at his desk, looking around his office, unable to concentrate on anything. Whenever his door opens, his heart lurches a little, hoping it's her. Instead, he's disappointed.

Huck hasn't called. Tom has found nothing. Cyrus is close to having another heart attack. And he is helpless.

Then, there's Mellie. She's a loose canon, ready to play the shocked, heartbroken wife for the American public, hoping to play on their sympathy.

He knows what he has to do. He knows what she would insist he do and that is to beat Mellie to the punch. Control the narrative, that's what she always said...says. What can he say? He can't deny her; he won't deny her.

His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his private line. He picks up.

"Mr. President?" The voice is barely above a whisper. Almost desperate. "It's Huck."

"Have you found her?" It's no time for pleasantries. He holds his breath as he waits for a response.

"I have a lead and-"

"What do you need from me?"

"Nothing."

"Where is she?"

"It's best you don't know."

Fitz sits straight up, afraid of the cryptic message that lies beneath Huck's words. "I'm the President of the United States. It _is_ best that I know."

Huck sighs on the other end. "B613. There's a compound and I think she's there."

"Tom!" Fitz yells.

Tom rushes in, "Sir?"

"Huck, I'm going to send you my best agent-"

"Mr. President, I need to go alone. I know-"

"This is non-negotiable. Tell Tom where to meet you. Tom, you are to go fully armed and prepared for...just be ready."

Olivia looks around the bathroom for something, anything that can help her out of her current predicament. Huck always told her to go into a bathroom. Lock the door, double-check to make sure it works. Look for a window and if there is one, see if it opens. Look for a vent. Something to unscrew it with. Feel around for a gun. Then, wait, he will come for her.

It's a plan they'd worked out long ago. At the time, she thought he was crazy for suggesting such a thing but the deeper she delved into the underside of Washington, DC, the more she understood the why. And now, of all times and of all people, she is forced to depend on someone else.

She goes through the checklist. Door locks. There is a window; it won't open. There's a vent. She looks around for something to unscrew the cover, but there's nothing. She says a silent prayer as she attempts to use one her her well-kept fingernails to act as a makeshift screwdriver. It works. She carefully removes the cover and places it on the ground. She feels around in the dark shaft until she feels something cold and hard. She smiles to herself as she withdraw the gun.

It's loaded. It's ready. She is ready for the inevitable knock on the door. The plea to come out before he has to come in. Because if he does, it'll be bad. A threat, not empty, but filled with the promise of what will happen if she forces his hand.

So she waits. Gun pointed toward the door. Waits for the jiggling. The picking of the lock or maybe even kicking it in. She takes a couple of steps back, into the bathtub. She's not sure why, she just does. A quick calculation of his height tells her if she holds the gun at this height and this angle, she will hit him in his stomach. A bit higher and to the right, she can hit his heart. Higher still, his head.

She looks at her watch. By now, Huck will have hacked into security cameras, unless they were jammed. But he would figure the approximate route. He is the best.

Tom pulls off the road. Huck had given him directions, but they weren't normal directions, like turn right on Jefferson, they were landmarks. "Pull off the road at the oak tree 50 feet from the stop sign. Drive through the clearing. Make a right at the great rock, then keep going until you reach the pine tree. The highest one."

When he arrives, Huck is nowhere to be found. Tom exits the car, gun drawn. He doesn't hear movement behind him or see the shadows dancing across his car. "We need to be quick," Huck practically whispers, startling Tom.

"Okay, let me show you what I've got." Tom leads Huck to his trunk and opens it. He'd grabbed all he could carry and slip into pockets and bags. Guns, grenades, teargas, gas masks, everything he'd though they may need in case of the worst.

Huck quickly grabs what he thinks they'll need and closes the trunk. He starts shoving the munitions in every pocket he has, handing some things to Tom in the process. "We're going to go by foot the rest of the way. The house is in the woods. Deep. There are motion sensors on every side, but I've already taken care of them. There's a bathroom on the first floor, in the back, that's where Olivia will be waiting."

Rowan is used to silence. He can sit alone all day and listen to absolutely nothing other than the thoughts running around in his head. He is a soldier. This is his country. He thinks of the sacrifices he's made, all of them, including her and he can't say he has any regrets. It has all been worth it. For decades he's kept the nation safe. Sure, he has to engage in questionable behavior, but it's all for the greater good.

He'd tried to protect Olivia. It's why he left her. Why he did nothing as her mother shriveled away to nothing. It's why he left her with a woman who was a stranger to her, but whom he knew all too well.

It never should've come to this, he knows. Although, if anyone around him was competent, this would've been handled long ago.

He gets up from the sofa and calls to her, "Olivia."

She doesn't respond. It's not worry or fear that crosses his mind. Even when she was a young child, she took plenty of time to make sure her appearance was as close to perfect as possible. "Come on." He walks down the long, empty hallway, with a bit of pep in his step. He stops when he gets to the door and begins to knock. "Hey, we need to finish talking."

"I'm not finished," she yells back.

He shrugs as he sits on the floor. And waits. So used to the waiting. It takes him back to the time when he was just a field agent. How he would wait for his target, staring through a lens and waiting. Just waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect shot and when he had his chance, he took it. He always took an extra moment to really look at his work. Watch the blood squirt from his victim's head; perfect shot. The chaos that ensued on the street and the peace that occurred within him. He reaches in the back of his slacks and smiles when he feels his gun.

He stands, "Come on!" His voice a little firmer this time. His knock a lot louder.

On the other side of the door, Olivia remains calm. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's my job."

"It's always been 'the job'."

"My job is to protect the country. You are a threat to the country. Your relationship is a threat to the country. I always told you to think things through. Consequences. The consequence of your relationship with the President of the United States. Just think, if he is impeached, Sally Langston becomes President. That would then make Edison Davis, your former boyfriend, Vice President and the country, with a liberal and a conservative would accomplish nothing for the remainder of his term."

"A term that's lasting one more year."

"A lot can happen in a year, Olivia. Just look at your relationship with him. He was ready to give it all up for you until Verna – you didn't think I knew about her. Despite that, almost a year later and you're still-"

"In love with him. Yes, I'm still in love with him, but that's not something you can understand. You don't love anyone but you love your country. I get it. I want what you want. I want this country to thrive under this administration-"

"Let. Him. Go."

Huck taught her to engage. Keep him talking and distracted. I'll come for you. I will come for you.


	4. Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

"I've got something!" Quinn yells. Everyone in the conference room turns around. Everyone except for Harrison, whose eyes are glued to his cell phone screen. "Here," Quinn points to a cell phone number.

Abby looks back and forth from the computer screen to Quinn, waiting for her to expound. "What?!"

Quinn points to the telephone number. "BNC broke the story, right? So I hacked into every reporter's cell and landline and tracked every number that called them."

"Okay."

"I'm not going to bore you with all the details because you won't understand, but this number's a fake. So, if we're able to figure out who the real call came from, we'll be able to figure out who outed Olivia." Quinn wants to pat herself on the shoulder. This is something that would've taken Huck hours to accomplish.

Abby looks at her, itching to bring her back down to earth. "Really what you're saying is you've got nothing. I mean, telling us it came from a dummy phone number tells us nothing. So, congratulations Quinn."

Quinn's shoulders hunch as her ego is deflated by the piercing, yet true words from Abby. It isn't the reaction she expected. Not the reaction she wanted. Perhaps the reaction she deserves because indeed, she has nothing.

Harrison's cell phone rings and he answers as he's walking out of the conference room. Abby eyes him suspiciously because he hasn't been himself in weeks. The confident swagger is somewhat tentative now, though not entirely absent.

Harrison has certain "tells" when something's going on. He tends to rub his head. Or play with his suspenders. Today, he's been doing both. The secrecy. Abby doesn't want to be suspicious, but nowadays, she has to be more guarded than ever, especially with him. And the way he's been acting tells her he knows more about this Olivia story than he's letting on.

For a moment, she considers asking Quinn if she can work some technological miracle, kind of like Thorngate, to listen in on Harrison's phone call. Instead, she opts for something more subtle. "Quinn, can you see who's calling Harrison?'

"Why?"

"Just a hunch. And just between us." Abby gives Quinn a look that tells her not to ask anymore questions.

Quinn punches several keys before she pulls up Harrison's phone log. She points to the screen. "Here."

"Now pull up the other screen. Side by side."

Quinn does and sees an outgoing call at exactly the same time as a call came in to the reporter. It's still a leap because Harrison, he's intelligent and he knows how to cover his tracks. What they have now is a puzzle piece, but the piece may be to a different puzzle. They have to find the originating phone number.

"Quinn, we have to figure this out on our own. You can't let on that you know anything. Oh, here he comes."

When Harrison enters, Abby and Quinn try to look normal, though neither of them has a particularly good poker face. Harrison studies both of them. "Anything wrong?"

"No," they say in unison.

"Good. I need to go out. Call me if you find anything." Without a goodbye or any the parting words, Harrison is gone.

Huck crawls through the small air duct by memory, sweat dripping from his brow. He hates small places. Hates darkness. But these ducts, navigating them, was part of his training exercise. By memory, he knows which left and right will lead him to his destination.

_Just relax_, Huck tells himself. It's been a long time since he's been in a place like there, where there's no more than two inches of clearance on either side. Inches from madness too. He tells himself to focus on the breathing, not to panic, keep his mind on saving Olivia.

Olivia hears the scratching and then the whisper, "Olivia."

Olivia taps three times with her fingernail, their signal. And waits. She hears Rowan's voice on the other side of the door, threatening. The words are lost in the air as she prays Huck will make it to her before she has to do something drastic. Before she has to pull the trigger. Before the decision has to be made.

The wall vibrates and she knows what's coming and the door jam shakes and she knows what's coming. A hole is being made and she sees a bit of freedom. A frame is cracking and she sees the life she is going to have to take. As the drywall falls to the floor and the door flies open, a shot is fired. A scream. Silence.

Huck rushes through the OPA, followed by Tom and Olivia, who is in a daze. No one says anything. They watch. Harrison looks on from his office but makes no move to see what's going on. Abby and Quinn look from Harrison to Huck to Tom and Olivia. Then, at each other.

Huck closes Olivia's office door as she falls onto her sofa. She's exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. And she hasn't begun to deal with the fallout of the recent revelation that she is indeed the President's mistress. She puts her head in her hands as the throbbing begins in the back of her head.

No one speaks to her. They know, instinctively, she needs this time to pull herself together. To get her thoughts together because that's the way Olivia Pope is. Sometimes, all she needs is silence and then the answers, they always they find her.

Huck watches her carefully. For a sign, any sign of distress. Any sign of what he should do next. An image flashes across his mind. He burst through the wall and fired a single shot, right into the head of Rowan. Olivia didn't cry. She immediately went into fixer mode and supervised him as he, along with Tom, disposed of the body.

He looks over at Tom and with a sly nod, Tom quietly exits the room. And Huck continues to watch over her. Like an angel. Like a savior.

Tom quickly dials a phone number and puts the phone to his ear. Abby discreetly moves closer to the door so she can hear his every word. Tom notices her immediately and moves further away. It's almost a dance how one moves and then the other, almost in sync, almost together.

"Sir, we have her."

Abby assumes it's the President.

"I'm with her now. I'll be leaving shortly to return to the White House and I'll brief you when I arrive." Long pause. "You're welcome, sir."

He turns around to find himself looking straight into the eyes of Abby and Quinn who attack him as one.

"Where was she? Who had her? What happened? Why is she like that?" One question after the other.

Tom looks back and forth at them and simply says, "I'm not at liberty to discuss that." And just like that, he's gone.

Olivia can remember the day so clearly. Or the night, more accurately.

She'd been planning it for weeks. Her, what could she call her? Foster mother? Technically, that wasn't right; she had a father. It's just that he was in and out of her life. Bringing her gifts and then disappearing for months at a time. Leaving her with that woman as though she could make up for his absence. As if he could be replaced.

She'd spoken with her friend about it. She kept saying she was going to leave, but he didn't believe her. So many kids talked, but nobody every really did anything when it came down to it. But Olivia, she'd never been "just a talker". If anything, she'd do things just to prove other people wrong.

In the weeks leading to her escape, she carefully gathered things she thought would be useful. Canned goods. Dried foods. Money. Clothing.

She watched the weather reports. She waited for a day of no rain, of no clouds, of no moon at all. She waited until the house was silent. Until all eyes were sleeping and a hush washed over the placed she'd called "home" for most of her life.

She was quiet. A skill her father taught her well. In the beginning, before he got rid of her, which is how she saw it, she'd learned how to be quiet. His colleagues couldn't know of her existence. So, on the night with no moon or clouds or rain, she tip-toed across the wood floor, avoiding all the squeaky spots she'd memorized over the years. She found the window which was the most silent, having oiled it the week before. It wasn't too high. It helped there was strong tree branch and with the right distance and velocity, she could leap from the window and grab onto safety.

She jumped and reached and grasped. There was nothing but the air rushing between her fingers. Miscalculation. But then a save by the branches below. She hit them with a heavy thud, bruising her ribs, but the taste of freedom was too strong so she used her mind the dull the pain. Then, she ran. As far as she could; as fast as she could.

The streets weren't kind to her that night or the night after, as her food supply diminished and the perfect weather she was expecting took a turn and it was cold and damp and she had nothing. It was a perilous position because by now her father knew she was missing and had infinite resources to track her down.

Day turned to night and then day again, and she realized she really didn't have a plan beyond the immediate; beyond the escape. She knew then that she must plan better in the future. For every scenario. No surprises.

She began thinking of alternatives. Thinking of what was once unthinkable. She tried to hang around the same places, become familiar to the people and maybe they'd realize she wasn't a bad person or maybe, just maybe, they'd throw a dollar or two in her direction. Sometimes, they did. It may have paid for her one meal for the day. Other days, she just listened to the endless rumbling of her stomach. But she trained her mind to ignore the hunger. Ignore the pain.

A couple weeks passed and she was going through a dry spell. She'd never considered going back to that house, no matter how bad things got. She would return one day, to get the boy as she promised, but that was it.

She'd been propositioned. Several times. It was something she hadn't considered because she was above that. But, desperation began setting in. There were only so many nights of sleeping on the cold, hard cement she could handle. So many nights of the wet ground. So many nights of the stink that floated through the night air.

So, on that one day when she was tired of the hard, the wet, the stink, she agreed. Just one time, she told herself. At this point, it was about self-preservation. It was about not letting herself be broken, but this choice, this decision, could be the thing that destroyed her spirit. It was a classic catch-22. As she stepped into the car and was getting ready to close the door, she saw a hand, a hand which kept the door from closing.

"Why don't you get out the car?" the man asked. It was less of an ask, but more of a demand. Immediately, her attitude came out.

"This is none of your business," she retorted, attempting once again to close the door.

This time, he talked to the man. "How much are you paying?"

"Twenty."

The man reaches into his wallet, pulled out forty dollars and threw it at the driver. He grabbed Olivia by her arm, more gently than she expected, pulled her from the car and slammed the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked the man.

"Shut up and follow me." He led her by her arm toward his car. For some reason, and she couldn't explain why, not then, she felt safe. For the first time in her life everything really was going to be okay. He opened the passenger side door for her and closed it after she was inside. He walked over to his side and she watched him. Perfectly comfortable. He eased behind the steering wheel and turned to her, extending his hand. "I'm Cyrus Beene."

She took his hand and hesitated as if pulling a name from the air, which she did. "Olivia. Pope."

Tom enters the Oval Office with the same calmness as always. One would never know what he'd done. Fitz looks up from his desk where he's working on his remarks to the American public, the speech where he lays it all on the line. The one Cyrus doesn't want him to give.

"What happened?"

"It's best you don't know all the details. Just know we took care of it and Miss Pope is at her office with her employees."

"Is she okay?"

"When I left, she was pretty shaken up."

Fitz nods. "Thank you." He crosses in front of his desk to shake Tom's hand, a silent acknowledgement of just how deeply the President appreciates what he's done. He gives Fitz a sad smile and they say, without words, none of what's happened goes any further.

It's relief Fitz feels. Relief that alive. Oddly enough, the sensation of peace again washes over him. It's what her love always brings to his life. Peace. Because he knows as long as both of them are breathing, there is love and as long as there is love, they will always have each other's back.

He wants to call her, but this is the time when they need to be most careful. Every move they make will be watched and analyzed and reported on. He doesn't care, not for him. But it's her, it's her reputation too, her livelihood. There's also the other thing neither of them wants to confront and that's the reality of him being a white male who cheated on his wife and how the public will receive that news, versus how a black woman will be perceived as the mistress. And only the mistress. There's a chance for career revival for him, but for her, that's a different story.

He walks over to his phone and quickly dials a few numbers. "Cyrus, get in here."

Moments later, Cyrus is standing in front of him looking exhausted, exasperated and at the end of his rope. He doesn't say anything. Just waits.

"Olivia's been found. I need to talk to her."

Cyrus rolls his eyes. This is a time when normally, a great monologue would come flowing from his lips but not this time. He has nothing left to give.

"We need coordinate our message with her and make sure she's okay with what we're doing."

"You're the President of the United States, for now, and you need to clear a message with your girlfriend? Mr. President, with all do apologies, do you realize how absurd that sounds? You don't need to clear anything with her. You need to preserve your position as the leader of this great nation."

"Enough, Cyrus! Find a way to get in touch with Olivia because I need to talk to her."

"Yes, sure, your wish is my command," Cyrus says sarcastically. Under his breath he mutters, "Harvard here I come," closing the door as he exits.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all again for your comments and support.**

Chapter 5

Stillness. The calmness in the air before a storm. The gathering clouds. The motionless trees. The darkness that swallows the light. Stillness. It's a word rarely associated with Olivia Pope, usually a swirling wind of thoughts and a bundle of energetic plans and actions, but, as she sits in her office, lost in her head, she is still.

As a fixer, her professional world is all about rapid change, response, redirection, misdirection. Her private world is supposed to be different. An orderly, sensible, boring, normal existence. So when the two collide, it's a shock to her system. It's paralyzing. It's terrifying. She wills herself to be anywhere but in her office, on this day, dealing with this issue. As she gradually comes out of a state that is hard to define, she blinks rapidly. Trying to snap out of it. Trying to re-join the land of the living. As she does, as her figurative armor surrounds her, she sits a little straighter and projects nothing but confidence, safe from the pending storm.

She turns to Huck, who has witnessed her transformation, and asks, "Is it handled?" Her voice gives no hint of what she's feeling because, frankly, she doesn't know what she's feeling.

"It's handled."

"Good." She stands up, smoothing imaginary wrinkles on her clothing, as though nothing has happened. And he watches. Worries and watches. She grabs the remote control and her index finger hovers over the "Power" button. Huck makes a move to stop her, but the glare he receives makes him think better of it. She takes a deep breath as she turns on the televisions. Each screen, tuned to a different news station, has a picture of him, of her, of them. Innocent pictures that are now being used as evidence against them.

As she listens, she reaches into her armoire and flips mindlessly through through the collection of clothing she keeps for emergency purposes, ignoring the sound of hangers scraping against the metal rod. She grabs a dark colored ensemble and selects a pair of shoes to wear with it. Before she can close its doors, her eyes catch a bottle of wine. Without hesitation, she grabs that too.

And she listens as the layers of her private life are poked, prodded, peeled, left exposed to the elements, being destroyed by strangers.

Olivia possesses a unique kind of filter, the kind that can sift through the white noise and capture what's relevant. Her mind pieces the bits together, retains what's important, discards what isn't, and they form the story the media is telling. As she listens, she starts building a competing narrative that she will sell to change the direction of the national conversation.

"_The alleged Presidential mistress."_

"_The President has yet to make a statement."_

"_Anonymous sources who were with them on the campaign trail said they saw nothing to indicate anything romantic between the two."_

"_Anonymous White House sources say Pope had unfettered access to the President and, in fact, they were heard more than once having bitter shouting matches."_

"_Sources say the President met Pope at a local restaurant and when he left, she was in tears."_

"_We have still not been able to find out the President's whereabouts the night of the First Lady's revelation that the President had indeed been unfaithful, but sources say he was not at the White House. There is some speculation that he spent the night with Pope."_

One of the perks of being a Gladiator is the lack of emotion, lack of feelings. As others try to define who she is and scar her with a brightly colored, neon-blinking label, she is working. As others try to distill their relationship to the most basic thing, a fling, comparing it to Lewinski and Monroe, she shakes her head and keeps working. As they focus on the simple, the easy, she begins weaving a tale which includes fact and fiction, designed to confuse and distract.

The way she sees it, the media can be controlled. They can be spoon fed a pack of lies because few have the time, people power or inclination to research and verify anymore. What she cannot control is the variable known as the American public. How they will take the news. The American public seems to have a strange puritanical streak and sometimes you just can't predict their reaction. While she's confident in her Plan A, she has to think of a Plan B just in case.

She pulls herself from her thoughts and looks up, slightly startled to see Huck still standing off to himself. "Huck, I need to speak to him. "

"I need to set some things up on my computer, but I can make that happen for you."

"How much time do you need?"

"Ten minutes to be safe."

Huck breezes past the conference room, past Abby and Quinn, and Harrison. When he goes into his office and closes the door, Abby and Quinn glance at each other. Words between them are unspoken; they both enter Olivia's office and close the door behind them.

"What?"

"We think Quinn may have found the source of the leak."

"Who?"

"Harrison."

"You must be wrong, Quinn. Harrison and I go way back. He would never do anything to hurt me. Double-check your work."

"I triple checked it and it all goes back to him."

Olivia spies Harrison watching them from his office. When he looks down to avoid her gaze, she knows he is indeed the source of the leak. Olivia storms out of her office and heads straight toward Harrison, who turns his back as he braces for what comes next.

As she enters his office, she slams the door so hard, even the glass trembles. Rage radiates from her body, warming the room at least ten degrees. Perspiration forms on his brow, dripping from his forehead, pooling at his feet. But, not her. She manages to stay cool, yet forcing him to feel the heat coming from her soul.

"How could you do this to us?"

"We both know once the press got wind the President was unfaithful they wouldn't have stopped digging until they found out it was you. I thought that by giving them something, we could push the story we want to tell."

"That wasn't your call to make, Harrison. You have no idea what you've unleashed. And I fail to see how you were planning to control the situation seeing as how-"

"I called you. I kept calling you, but you wouldn't answer."

"Because I was busy. Because I didn't think my oldest friend would throw me under the bus like that without a plan. And if you had a plan, it failed. I don't understand what you thought you were doing. I don't understand how you could do this without running it by me first."

Harrison looks at the ceiling, the walls, his feet; he looks anywhere but Olivia's eyes. Because he failed her. She came back for him, eventually, saved him, and this is how he repays her? All he can do is try to make her understand. "It was going to be ripping the band aid off at once, like we did with the Rochester case, and then I'd written a statement from you-"

"Harrison, that doesn't even make sense. Any admission should've come from the White House, not this office. You know that."

"Liv, I'm sorry-"

And he is. And she knows it. But she turns her back and walks away, leaving what's left of his sentence dangling in the air.

Fitz is sitting in his private office, head in hands, when his phone rings. His heart skips a beat and he smiles, knowing immediately who's on the other end. "Hi."

"Hi."

Both breathe a little easier. Both are a little calmer. Suddenly, everything is going to be okay. They believe that and it will because with the simple word, _Hi,_ they tell each other all they need to know. That they love each other. That they, as a couple, are okay.

"How are you?" they ask at the same time. Then, they laugh. They laugh together at a joke only they would get, something speaking to how "in sync" they are.

"I'm fine," once again they answer. They lie.

"I have a plan, I just-"

"Livvy, I told you, I don't want you fixing me. I have a plan, but you have to be okay with it."

She smiles to herself, secretly loving when he takes control like this. It makes all the difference in the world to have someone else finally taking care of her. It makes her feel loved. "What's the White House response going to be?"

"I'm not going to deny it, Liv. I'm not going to deny you." There's a finality in his tone. He's been trying, for years, to admit the truth. They used to joke that he would shout it from the rooftops that the incredible woman he's in love with is Olivia Pope, but she always stopped him. This time, there's no denial, there's no stopping him.

"Okay. We'll confirm but do nothing else. Does that work for you?"

"Yes."

They sit cradling their phones in a comfortable silence. It's soothing. Comforting. They could stay this way for hours, but that's not something most people can understand. How just being in the presence of someone else, even if it's just by phone, can be...everything.

"Liv?"

"Yes?"

"What happened this morning?"

In the past, she would've avoided answering. Changed the conversation and he would've let her for fear of upsetting the always delicate dance between being together and not. There was a lack of trust that what they had was true and real, and she always kept a barrier between them. He'd broken it down, so when he asks, she gives him an honest answer. "I can't give you specifics over the phone, but my father is the one who took me this morning. When we're able to see each other, I'll tell you everything. I promise."

There's so much unsaid. So many I love yous unuttered. They want nothing more than to be in each other's arms and just be. Just feel. Just revel in their love, leaving the rest of the world behind to fend for itself.

Olivia has come to terms with this chapter of her life closing. Once the rumor is confirmed, she can no longer maintain her status as "fixer". Everyone will question whether her success was really earned, or if it was the result of her relationship with the President. The fact that one of her own turned against her, no matter his reason, stung. Stings.

"Olivia?"

"What?"

"Who's the leaker?"

Silence. He wasn't supposed to betray her. But isn't that exactly what she'd done to him? First, by leaving and not reaching back for him until it was too late. Yet, she thought she'd atoned for that by taking his case pro-bono and using every tool in her toolbox to get him off lightly while his colleagues spend the rest of their lives behind bars. She was there for him when he got out, with a job, an apartment, a new life for him waiting.

Then again, there was the destruction of his friendship, his trust, with Abby. Using him to break up her relationship with David. That was something else. Above and beyond, they were no longer even at that point. She owes him.

"Don't worry about it. I'm handling it." Olivia Pope speak for leave it alone.

She sighs, knowing what he's thinking and he's right. They are a team and he deserves to know what's going on. "It was someone in my inner circle." She takes a deep breath before revealing the rest. "It was Harrison."

He nods to himself. Not whom he expected. Her voice tells the story of her pain, so he presses no further.

"When's your press conference?"

"Nine."

"I guess you should get going."

"I should."

They hold the phone, listening to the silence. This is them, the quiet in the storm. And they're fine with that. They're perfect. "Bye."

"Bye." She hangs up first, and just stares into space.

There's a storm raging outside of her office building with hundreds of reporters hoping to get a glimpse. Every television station flashes her picture, as though she can be defined by an image in time. She is the butt of radio jokes. Yet, none of it matters.

There is the matter of her father. Of what had to be done today, yet she still does not cry. Even in the silence without prying eyes peaking at her does not shed a tear. The world is better off without him; she is better off without him.

There is the matter of B613, and what to do. It isn't something that dies just because the leader is gone. Someone will wake up tomorrow and try to reach him. They will not be successful. Someone tomorrow will go to The Compound to search for something, anything pointing to his whereabouts. When they don't find him, they will destroy his file and all evidence of his existence. By tomorrow night, there will be someone else in charge and B613 will live on. It's the way things work in Washington; get rid of one evil today and another one will grow in its place tomorrow.

Mellie isn't used to be ignored. Not like this. Sure, Fitz acts as though she doesn't exist, but that's just as well. She probably hates him as much as he hates her, but lately, his disrespect has reached another level.

He drove her to reveal his affair. Forced her hand. She gave him an opportunity to stop her, but he was too in love, too into whatever it is she put on him to make him completely lose his mind. She doesn't know what makes him think she'll go quietly.

When the news broke in the morning, she was upset. It was her card to play and someone beat her to the punch. For a moment, she thought it may've been him, or her, because she's really the brains behind the operation.

She knew something was up the night before when he lay his head in her lap. He has a tell. A slight smirk that no one else would notice. But she saw it the minute he walked in the room. She let him go ahead and think he was fooling someone, but really, her wheels were turning, already working on ways to make him pay while maintaining her position in the administration.

All day the White House halls were eerily quiet. She'd expected a flurry of activity. What it meant, she didn't know. Perhaps an air of defeat was seeping through the walls. An air of resignation.

She stopped by Cy's office. Looked inside. He had his head in his hands, which was the most devastating vision of all. Tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned, hair standing in all different directions; he was broken. Alone and broken.

She knocked on the door. Once. Twice. By the third knock he simply motioned for whomever it was to come in without even looking. She looked in his eyes and without words he knew she was asking if it was over and he nodded in ascent.

She left. Went back to the bedroom and sat. To think. Which is where she finds herself now, wondering how in the hell she let it get to this point.

She can blame a number of people for their current predicament. There are the obvious, Fitz and Olivia. There's Cyrus for not putting a stop to it. White House gossip machine for letting the secret get beyond the sacred walls. Most of all, she blames herself.

People say things about her, hurtful things, but she's strong. She hears the harsh words, hears their laughter. The comparison to Jackie Kennedy as a joke, because of the way she dresses. It's what some like to call "old fashioned."

They say she's frigid and they can understand why Fitz would turn to someone as beautiful and sexy and smart as Olivia Pope. Somehow they think she's on his level and maybe she is, but it's Mellie who had to fight and claw to get them there. It's Mellie who had the drive and pushed him and pushed him until he believed he could be somebody.

But, the wife never gets credit, only the scorn. This isn't the life she wanted, or the life she wants. Her dream has always been to be President. That's not in the cards for a woman, not yet, so she accepted, accepts the role of First Lady, the consolation prize.

Soon, she won't have that. There will be calls for his impeachment. She will hang her head in shame and walk away in disgrace. This will be her legacy. This will be the end of her political career, before it even gets started.

So lost is she in her thoughts, she doesn't hear him enter the room. His presence only becomes apparent when the weight of the sofa shifts when he sits down.

"I'm going on television to confirm the report."

"And then what?"

"And then, I'm going to fight."

"What does that mean for me?" She meant to say us, but didn't bother to censor herself.

"Divorce."

**I feel the need to explain my Harrison decision. I love the character, but there was a moment in episode 221 (think), when I got the feeling something was off with him. I don't know if "jealous" is the right word, but he and Olivia were in her office and he talked about how she was tethered to nothing. Olivia got in his face and told him to "get on it," referring to investigating the V.P. Then, an episode later she's outed? I thought it would be an interesting direction to go with this story.**


	6. Chapter 6 (The End)

Chapter 6

"The past twenty-four hours have been some of the most difficult hours of this administration, and of my marriage. I am aware of the rumors surrounding my life and I am here to address those rumors.

I am a human being and I am not perfect. I was unfaithful in my marriage. Please understand, this wasn't a case of an established pattern, or me trying to satisfy a need. This was a case of meeting the love of my life at the wrong moment, and not being strong enough to resist the feelings I have for her.

Make no mistake, I am deeply, completely, soulfully in love with Olivia Pope. After the assassination attempt, I realized I can no longer live without her and I asked the first lady for a divorce.

I realize this is unprecedented, and for my human failing, I apologize. But I will not apologize for following my heart. I will not apologize for any part of my relationship with Ms. Pope. I will apologize for the circus that this has become, but rest assured, my administration is as focused as ever on running this country to the best of our ability.

I hope you will respect Ms. Pope's privacy as she is a private citizen. I apologize to my family for what they have endured, and what they will endure as we move through the divorce process.

Thank you and may God bless America."

Olivia sits in a hotel room, on the floor with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of her favorite red wine. What a day it's been in her life. In some respects, it is the happiest as the burden she'd been carrying was lifted. In others, it is just the beginning.

She watched his press conference and marveled at how good he looked. Peaceful. It's something she rarely sees on his face because there's always so much pressure, but when he makes up his mind about something, he becomes more youthful looking. Has a bit of a bounce in his step which she noticed as he walked toward the podium.

He will become a better president because of this. Because he can focus on the job at hand without worrying about Mellie's next move. They'll still have to worry about her, but she no longer has the power of their affair to hold over his head. A new set of worries, certainly, but she is weakened.

Now, she must think about her own life. What's next. Press is still camped out in front of her home and office. No amount of pleading for privacy will give her that. OPA is likely finished. Then again, while her reputation may take a hit, it doesn't negate the fact that she is still the best at what she does. Perhaps a temporary hiatus is the route to go because eventually the revelation will become back page fodder, and then it'll drop out of the news entirely.

She looks back at the television and sees a couple of talking heads interviewing representatives from both sides of the aisle. She looks at the democratic senator speaking on behalf of the entire party. He was coached well. Using buzzwords such as "disappointed," "hearings," "impeachable offense," all things she expected. She has a file on him though, with the names of the teenage prostitutes he's solicited over the years and the many messes she had to fix.

The republican representative is no better. Well, on the immorality scale he is better. He had a drug problem, still does. Heroin and cocaine. A combination. He overdosed a couple of times and OPA had to sneak him in and out of rehab. He's fallen off the wagon. It's all there in his file.

She turns off the television and waits. She hopes Fitz will call, wants him to call. He probably won't. Can't. He'll likely sit with his communications team and devise a plan for moving forward. Then, there will be calls to his divorce lawyers. The discussion on where to file, when to file, how much to offer her.

Then, there's Cyrus. Cyrus. What to do about him.

There is a complication. She owes him her life. He didn't have to stop for her. Didn't have to rescue her or take her in. For years he took care of her in a way her own father wouldn't. Fed her thirst for knowledge. In exchange, she let him mold her into one of the best political minds "in a generation," his words, not hers.

Although she worked throughout college, and earned a full ride scholarship to Yale, it was he who gave her extra money. He is the one who sat in the auditorium during her debate competitions. And awards ceremonies. And graduation ceremonies. He was always there.

At the same time, her debt has been paid several times over. She worked many campaigns for and with him. Teetered in the area between white and black for him, and lived with that guilt that every questionable deed caused. Most painfully, she let him play mind games when it came to Fitz.

He knows her well and is able to play just the right notes to get what he wants. She knows she gives him too much leeway. Too much power over her life. Every time he plays a game, she knows exactly what he's doing, at the same time, her conscience always gets to her. This last time though, playing the Verna card with her and the Jake card with Fitz, that was the final straw.

She doesn't know how she will handle it. She can't simply cut him out of her life. Her thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of her phone.

"Huck? What is it?" Huck stayed at the office, trying to get a handle on B613. Listening to chatter. Making sure the Rowan problem really was put to bed.

They never spoke of her father, Olivia and Huck. She doesn't want to; he doesn't pressure her. He does think, maybe things at The Compound unfolded too quickly, too neatly, and there will be consequences. He's nervous, but he doesn't share that with her. Doesn't share with her the suspicions about her mother either. She has enough to deal with.

"So far, there's chatter, but not much. It looks like someone may have been trying to push him out, which is good for us because we took care of their mess. They were in the midst of a coup anyway, so we may be in the clear."

"May?"

"We'll just have to stay on top of this. You never know how these things can go but you don't have to worry. I'll take care of whatever comes up."

"Thanks, Huck."

He wants to ask her if she's okay, but she doesn't know the answer to that question. Instead, he says, "You're welcome," then hangs up.

The bigger issues are Harrison and Fitz.

Her life, for the past three, nearly four years, has been all about Fitz. Getting his campaign on track. Leading him toward victory. Then, coming to his rescue with the whole Amanda Tanner debacle. It's all such a mess.

This though, saving his presidency after this, is going to be her biggest challenge. No longer can she come and go from the White House as she pleases. No longer is she anonymous. Whatever planning, whatever assistance she can offer has to kept quiet.

Still, he hasn't called.

Harrison. Until today, he'd been her most trusted, most loyal gladiator. He's always been willing to do whatever was asked of him, without question. But today, he betrayed her. After all she'd done for him. He may say he was looking out for her, but without at least involving her in his decision, he put everything she worked for at risk.

She should've seen it coming. There seemed to be some ill feelings bubbling to the surface lately. She ignored her gut.

With Olivia and Harrison all those years ago, there was an instant connection. Not of the romantic variety, more like the brother/sister kind. He was being cared for by the same woman whose name escaped Olivia. They were supposed to call her mommy, but she never did. Never really called her anything.

Harrison's situation was a little different than Olivia's. Both of his parents were B613. They left him with the woman, but they never came back. So, he became Olivia's responsibility, something she didn't take lightly.

As she was planning her escape, it was he whom she confided in. He doubted her. Said no one had been successful and she knew she would be the first. She liked to be the first to achieve things. So, she met the challenge head on and she did it, with the promise she would come back for him.

What she didn't anticipate was being saved. Was Cyrus Beene. Although Harrison was never far from her mind, she didn't go back for him. Not until she found out he was being held on a variety of charges. Then, she re-appeared and saved his life.

Olivia has never been the type of woman who reacted. She is more like a slow burn. Wait until you relax and think you've gotten away with something, and then she'll strike. Harrison learned all about it when they were growing up with that woman.

He was different from Olivia. Where she would go and have a good think, he was a smooth talker. She'd somehow managed to convince him to share some of his secrets of coping, but he she never reciprocated.

He owes her his life, he knows. When she walked into that jail, at first he didn't recognize her. But, as soon as she spoke in that unique voice, he knew she'd come to rescue him. There was no longer that sense of hopelessness that hovered above him.

From that day forward, he did anything for her. When she called, he jumped and did whatever necessary to get the desired outcome. Never any questions.

It's why her secret relationship with the President cut him so deeply. She was his confidante and it turns out, he was nothing to her. It was a sad realization, but a necessary one.

Harrison sat in his office alone, playing with the phone in his hand. It had stopped ringing long ago. His plan, which seemed foolproof at the time, was a complete and utter disaster.

Since there had been no denials in the beginning, he thought he could be in control. There was a woman, he'd leak, but it wasn't just an affair; it was love. It was the first lady who drew first blood with her alleged affair on the campaign trail, a fact he'd help cover up. There would be whispers of the President wanting to protect the mystery lady from scrutiny; it would be chivalrous.

The first lady was in on it. She knew of the relationship and didn't object. She facilitated meetings, pointing specifically to a state dinner, a fact he'd been able to dig up. He'd paint the picture of a first lady who was an enabler, who, in fact, benefitted from her husband's relationship.

Leaking Olivia's name, that was a mistake. The smooth talker spoke too fast and referred to "Liv" when the reporter said something. Now, he can't even remember what set him off, what made him slip.

It felt like a matter of minutes before "Liv" slip to the reporter became "Olivia," and seconds later came "Pope". Now, it's all over. There's no way he can fix this. He'd just earned his way to the big office and she'd likely ask him to vacate it sooner, rather than later.

He looks up when he feels eyes glaring at him. The same eyes that have been glaring at him all day. They know. They all know. And, he's broken their circle of trust.

He gets up and marches toward the conference room where the eyes that had just been staring a hole into him, are suddenly occupied by something else. "Okay, let me have it," he says, preparing himself for the harsh words that will come next.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Abby says it in such a way and with that little smirk, it tells him she knows exactly what he's talking about and she feels nothing but scorn toward him.

"I messed up, okay? I made a call and it was the wrong one."

Abby moved closer to Harrison, but Huck steps between them. The rage that has been building from Huck's stomach moves closer to the surface. Harrison, of all people, one of those they protected, betrayed her. His rage though, quickly turned to pity as he sees the expression on Harrison's face. "You need to leave," he says simply. "You need to go far from here and never look back."

It is a command, no, a demand. Without another word or backwards glance, Harrison is gone.

The knock on Olivia's hotel room startles her. Ever since the attempted, well, she still isn't sure what it was, the break-in perhaps, she's been leery of answering the door. At least not without backup which, for her, is a baseball bat. She leaves the guns to Abby.

She knocking increases in urgency and volume, "Who is it?"

"Me."

She can't open the door fast enough. There he stands with the most beautiful expression on his face. He enters without invitation, but the smile on her face tells him everything he needs to know. She's okay and most importantly, they are okay.

They embrace each other. No words. Just arms wrapped around bodies; warmth meeting warmth. Breathing calmly because this is the beginning of forever; they have time.

When they separate, their fingers still touch, neither wanting to completely sever their connection. He smiles down at her, then takes his hands and brings them to her face, cupping her cheeks. He leans in and kisses her. He isn't gentle, nor does he want to be. In that kiss, he tells her he loves her, craves her, needs her. In his kiss, he promises her forever. Tells her she is his reason for breathing; without her, he is nothing.

In her kiss, she says they're going to be okay. That she loves him and she's not leaving this time. It will be different because there are no more secrets; there is no more hiding. She she trusts him; their love is the reason she exists. He gives her life.

They do a perfectly choreographed dance toward the bedroom. There is something magical on this night when the fog of their relationship was lifted. There's a freedom that comes with that; a new level of commitment and honesty.

Fitz tries to be gentle as he lays her on the bed. They've waited so long for this moment and he's wanted it so bad, he's afraid of losing control and hurting her in the process.

She looks at him and him at her. She gives him a little smile as she reaches for him, needing to feel his body on top of hers. If Olivia thought he played her body masterfully in the past, tonight, he takes it to another level. He runs his hands along the sides of her body as he removes her top, then her slacks. He touches the little spot by her ribcage that makes her giggle. He caresses her neck.

His lips do not leave a single spot on her body unkissed, unloved. His tongue draws circles in the places she loves, her breasts, her navel, the inside of her right thigh which, for some reason, is more sensitive than the left.

Olivia gives just as much as she receives. She knows how much he loves how she plays with his hair, giving him gentle scalp massages. And how he loves the feeling of her palm pressed against his abdomen. How sensitive his ears are and how he moans when she takes his lobes into her mouth. She knows how much he appreciates how open she is with him in the bedroom, how she hands over control and the trust she shows in him.

Their lovemaking, though it starts off frenzied, is slow and methodical; instinctual and passionate. When he enters her, it feels as though it's the first time. Not that her body had to adjust, but just that sensation of being that close to another human being with no barriers, emotional or otherwise between you, it's otherworldly. And when they cum, it's an explosion unlike any other. It's "I LOVE YOU!" It's "YOU ARE MY LIFE!" It's, it's...everything.

There is no hurry tonight. It's just them, no talking or strategizing. No worries. Just each other. Fitz pulls Olivia into his body and she lays her head on his chest. She wraps her arm around his body, then looks up, kissing his lips.

"I love you," she says.

He looks at her for a moment. She rarely says it, which makes the words even more meaningful to him. "I love you too," he says as he covers them both.

Within minutes, they are both in the most peaceful sleeps they've had in years.


End file.
